You Never Stop Learning
by suzie the moderately red
Summary: A collection of short stories and drabbles about Hawkeye and Mockingbird. Combined movieverse and comic-world. In the comic-world, these two were married and had a fairly extensive relationship. This is my spin on their relationship in the new movieverse.
1. Chapter 1

_In which we learn about a man and a woman_

Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman. The man and woman worked together at a very strange place and did many strange things. After some time had passed, the man and woman decided they liked each other and began to the things that men and women do. After more time had passed the man and woman decided they loved each other and they were married. They were very happy and continued to work at a very strange place and do many strange things.

_What the hell happened to her?_

_Husband says there was an accident._

_Accident? She's been torn to ribbons! There's a spike through her abdomen! _

_Another in the shoulder._

_Sir, I know you're concerned for her but I need to look at your head._

_Oh shit…Doctor…_

_What?_

_She's pregnant._

…_crap. Okay, get me the OR and do we have any idea of the extent of what we're dealing with here?_

Once upon a later time, there was a husband and a wife. The husband and wife travelled all over the world together doing many strange things, such as righting wrongs and making bad people go away. Sometimes they stopped wars and sometimes they started wars. Lots of people liked them and lots of people did not. The husband and wife did not care. They were happy and that was all that mattered. Then one day, the wife made a discovery about herself. She did not believe it at first so she waited and waited until she was absolutely sure her discovery was real. Then she went to her husband and told him of her findings. The husband and wife were even happier and it seemed their life was perfect.

_She's seizing!_

_Oh no no no lady, don't do this to me. I was having such a good day…get that IV back in!_

_Or's open._

_Get us up there._

_Doctor, we pull those things out, the baby could…_

_I know. Get us up there, now!_

_Sir, I need you to wait here for your wife. Sir you can't come with us!_

Once upon a not much later time, there was a daddy-to-be and a mommy-to-be. The daddy and mommy were very in love and very happy together. The daddy travelled the world doing many strange things, but not as often as he used to. The mommy stayed at home, watching over the daddy and making a nest for the baby. She felt very safe because the daddy had promised her that he would protect the mommy and the baby forever and always. But one day, a bad man attacked their home and the mommy was hurt very badly. She and the daddy tried and tried, but they could not save their baby. The not-daddy and not-mommy were very sad.

_Doctor! She's losing blood fast!_

_Dammit…somebody plug that hole already!_

_Blood pressure's dropping._

_Pulse is erratic!_

_Get me a line in here…_

_Sir, you can't be in right now, you need to wait outside._

_She's going into v-fib!_

_We need a crash cart in here! Now!_

_Doctor, the baby! She's losing the baby!_

_I'll do what I can but right now we have to focus on her, now move!_

Once upon a still later time, there was a husband and wife. The husband and wife travelled all over the world, but not always together anymore. Their nest was broken and their baby was gone. The husband and wife were very sad. The wife was also secretly very mad because the husband had not protected her or the baby. She was so mad that one day she flew away from their nest and did not come back.

_Sir? Sir, I have news about your wife…she's out of surgery now and in the ICU. She's not awake yet, but the doctor thinks she'll make a full recovery in time. What? The baby? Oh sir…I'm so sorry…_

Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman, and they were each very alone.

***Author's Note: My first venture into the dreaded world of ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS! Oh noes! Seriously though, this is a new venture for me and I'd appreciate any constructive crit you have to offer (on the writing style, imagery, medical terms, _anything_you feel I need to work on). This is hopefully just the first of several looks into the world of our favorite lovebirds. Heh...birds. Hawkeye. Mockingbird. See what I did there? ...I'm gonna go now.***


	2. Chapter 2

_In which we learn that the Most Dangerous Woman In The World is secretly terrified of spiders._

When you stopped to think about it, Clint decided, it wasn't all that surprising that the two most important women in his life hated each other's guts. But then, Bobbi had always hated spiders. Truth be told, she had never been that fond of anything with more than four legs. But she had least tried to practice a catch-and-release methodology with most four-plus leggers. Spiders though, those had been designated kill-on-sight for as long as Clint had known Bobbi. The smaller ones she could usually deal with herself; anything larger than a bottle cap and she would summon him to dispose of it. She had once confessed to him (in a brief moment of spider killing euphoria) that it was "the legs, Clint, all those legs!" that freaked her out. That and their lightning fast movements"Nothing should be able to move that fast!"). When he pointed out that _she_ could move just as quickly as a spider could, she'd smacked him in the arm and threatened to do something incredibly nasty to him should he ever try comparing her to a spider again. It amused him to no end though. Bobbi Morse, a woman capable of killing you twenty different ways without even moving…and she's afraid of spiders.

***Author's Note: Your humble author is herself not-so-secretly terrified of spiders. I am actually a zookeeper by trade, meaning I work around some of the most dangerous creatures in the world. Lions and tigers. Gorillas. Very large, very venomous snakes. _Anything_ from Australia. And I'm cool with all of them. But spiders? H*ll NO. Not happening.***


	3. Chapter 3

_In which we learn about falling_

Bobbi had never been one hundred percent balanced to begin with. Hell, none of them had. That's why they were so good at this job, right? You needed to be a little unhinged if you were going to pop the lid and think outside of the box. Yes, they were all a little "special", but Bobbi more so than most. It had been a fun kind of crazy at first, the kind that says _"I know it's 3 am, hon, but we need ice cream sundaes now"_. And sometimes _"Don't be silly. Illegal just means 'more fun'!"_. And the occasional _"Why do we have 5 toes? Why not 4? Or 6? What's so freakin' special about 5?"_ thrown in just for the hell of it.

But after they'd lost the…after the incident, she had fallen into a more dangerous insanity. She didn't hold back anymore, in anything, or the job or off. Her sparring partners limped away from her with broken bones and skull-shattering concussions ensuring a visit to the medics after every session. Her targets, what little could be found of them after a visit from Bobbi, spelled an even gorier picture. She was falling, her mind disintegrating, and fast.

When she left SHIELD, most of the organization had been certain she'd end up on their "Most Wanted" list before the month was out. But months went by and little was heard about ex-agent Morse. Stories and rumors popped up now and then, speaking of a beautiful woman with red in her eyes. Whispers in the dark spoke of a terrifying woman who would rip into one thousand pieces and leave you still alive and bleeding. Grown men would scoff at the very idea that a mere _female_ could destroy them so easily, only to disappear a week later with no trace they ever existed. Clint found these tiny traces of her everywhere and yet saw no sign, no definitive mark of her passing. Just the bodies. And yet…

As time passed and heartaches dulled to a quiet burn, he began to notice a pattern. Between and below the moaning about a bloodthirsty woman, he began to hear a faint murmur about a far different creature.

_"She found my sister. She brought her back from those men."_

_"She stopped them…they wanted to kill me and she stopped them."_

_"She helped us, she made the cartel leave us alone."_

_"She killed him before he could kill me."_

He began to dig deeper, to listen to the murmurs and to find the sources. Careful questioning led him to quiet wondering. Quiet wondering led him to silent knowledge. She was still running, she was still hurting, but maybe she had finally stopped falling.

***Author's Note: I'm not as happy with this one, especially the last bit there. But I wanted to try to portray Bobbi's fall and (kind of) redemption. Any suggestions or helpful hints? I have cookies…you know you want them…mmmmmm, coooooookies….***


	4. Chapter 4

_In which we learn that every rock band needs an air guitarist and a moment_

When no one is watching (or so she thinks) she will turn on her favorite music and rock along. On the air guitar. And the amazing invisible drums. And sometimes the super-secret keyboard. Hair flying and tuneage cranked up, she will dance around the room like a mad woman. It is easy to see that in this moment her emotions are pure and completely unhidden; she is one hundred percent genuine as she rocks on, the mask she wears in front of the rest of the world removed and left to wait on the couch. He loves watching her in these rare moments of unbridled head-banging passion.

Even rarer than these musical moments are the times he has been able to successfully sneak up on her. So many times he has thought he was going to finally surprise her during her musical mayhem, only to find her waiting and staring at the exact spot where he will emerge into the room. But once in a blue moon, he manages to slip on his super sneaky ninja shoes and will come upon her completely unsuspecting. He never tells her when he manages this; rather, he sits hidden and watches and smiles as his wife lets herself have a moment.

***Author's Note: Because every human being, in every country worldwide, has at one point or another taken a moment to rock out to their favorite band. It's okay, you can admit it. I don't judge.***


	5. Chapter 5

_In which we learn about running away_

"Bobbi?' he said, his voice heavy with disbelief and light with hope.

The figure in the hallway paused, only briefly and for a split second seemed to waver between turning around and dashing off. Before she can run (and he knows she will) he calls out again, "Bobbi." It is not a question but rather a statement of fact and of being. Bobbi Morse was here, she was back. He didn't know how or why and frankly he didn't care. The very sight of her caused a great lift of weight from his body, as if gravity had suddenly given up on him. And then the figure turned around to face him.

It took every ounce of his training to hold him in place, to keep him from recoiling from the look in her eyes. No, not just the eyes…her whole _body_ was screaming at him. He had never known anyone could hold so many emotions at once, it just didn't seem possible. Anger, hate, fear, sorrow, desire, it couldn't be done! A body should explode from being so full, and yet here she was, radiating resentment as he looked through her.

"Yes Clint?" she asked, as cool and calm as if they had seen each other not even 10 minutes ago.

"You're here…" he replied, not really to her but to the still questioning part of brain. She cocked her eyebrow and tilted her head ever so slightly, "Brilliant observation _Hawkeye_." she retorted, as snarky as ever. A small smile slid onto his face in reply, "Yeah, that's why I get the big money." She didn't smile back and his began to waver in the face of her stare.

"I'm just here to talk with Fury and then I'm gone." she quietly informed him. "Bobbi," he said, "I haven't seen you in…" "A while, I know." she cut him off, waving her hand as if she could physically keep his hurt words from touching her, "But I'm just here…"

"For Fury. I know. But, you could stay, we could…"

"No! No, I'm here and then I'm out." Her hand drifted to her temple, resting gently there as her eyes closed and crinkled. She looked as though every word pained her, and her head turned away from him as if trying to escape from the confrontation to come.

"Bobbi…" and now it was disappointment and hurt coloring his words. Hope was long gone.

"What, Clint?" and her eyes snapped open, her head jerking back to face him. No pain evident now; now she was practically snarling at him. "What do you want from me?"

And now he did move, not in recoil from her obvious anger but rather towards her. She skittered back a few steps, retreating from his advance, and he paused, not wanting to frighten her off entirely. "I want to understand. I want to know why."

"Why?"

"Why you did it."

"Why I…"

"You walked away, Bobbi!" he interrupted her confused repetition, "You walked away from this, from us, from me!"

She scoffed "I didn't…"

Again, he cut her off, narrowing his eyes in frustration, "You did, Bobbi. You walked away."

"And you didn't come after me!" she cried in return, the anger now less evident under the thick layer of hurt and betrayal. He froze, staring at her.

"…I didn't know you wanted me to."

"Oh, _god_." She exhaled noisily, breath catching ever so slightly. "I walked, no I _ran_ away from SHIELD, Clint, from this _fucking_ insanity, not from you. Never from you." Her voice quavered. "But you…you didn't come after me. You didn't tell me to stop and I…I thought" And now her voice broke "…I thought you didn't _want_ me anymore. That you didn't want a broken person here, with you. "

His eyes widened at the pain present in her voice and he began to protest, "I never said…"

"No, you didn't. You never said _anything_." She was angry now, the emotion smoothing over the roughness of her sorrow-tinged voice and making her sharp and cold. She was a knife, both cutting and being cut. "I needed you to say something, I needed you to do something, I _needed_ you, Clint, and you weren't there. You weren't there to catch me when I fell. Nobody was."

It was true. He hadn't been there much after the incident. He hadn't known how to reconcile the small, cold woman who had left the hospital with the warm and loving woman who had been his wife. So he hadn't tried. He had taken on more and more missions, anything to get off the carrier and into the field. At least when he was working he didn't have time to think about all the "might haves" and "could have beens" that they had lost in that hospital. In the field, he wasn't Clint Barton, he was Hawkeye. Hawkeye, who could see everything and anything. He could see that his wife was hurting. What he couldn't see was how to fix it.

"And now you're broken, is that it? And you think that I don't care?" She wasn't the only one who could get angry. It just took him longer to get worked up and now his anger was being fanned into a proper blaze. But her next words doused the flame completely.

"Do you?" she looked at him and while her body still displayed its cold, sharp edges, her eyes were large and questioning. He crumbled, shoulders sagging and brow creasing.

"Bobbi…how can you even ask me that? How can you…" he shook his head in disbelief "If I didn't care, would I be here? Talking to you, now and here and like this?" his hands splayed in front of him, both gesturing to the empty hall and entreating her to let him past her defenses, to let him in again. She stared at his hands and seemed to shrink into herself. The fury had burned through her and all that was left was sorrow.

"I don't know, Clint. I really don't know."

******Author's Note: Trying for a longer piece here, although I have my doubts about my ability to write anything more than a paragraph. This was a tough one for me. I wanted to try to communicate the hurt and general upset-ness of the relationship at this point, and I'm not sure this segment really works. Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?******


	6. Chapter 6

_In which we learn that "Cutie-Patootie" is not an acceptable call-sign_

They agreed at the start that they would never be "one of those newly married couples who come up with all sorts of sickeningly cute nicknames for each other simply because they work together" (never minding the fact that they _are_ newly married and they _do_ work together). They agreed that, while working, they would maintain an air of professionalism and decorum and would refer to each other by their given names or call-signs. They agreed that there would be absolutely no public demonstrations of intimacy. They agreed to many things. They later agreed that perhaps agreeing to all these agreements had set them up for failure.

It started innocently enough. A knowing smile shared at the conference table during a briefing. A brush of the hand when prepping the gear for a mission. A casual offer of assistance when putting on body armor. Nothing at all to make their co-workers blink or even think twice about the couple. Just normal, everyday routine. Then Bobbi, who had never quite mastered the Art of Sitting At The Comm Quietly, had accidentally called out to Clint not as Hawkeye but rather "hon". To give him credit, he responded with no visible hesitation. To give her credit, she realized immediately what she had done and showed no visible sign that she had screwed up Agreement #1. To give their co-workers credit, they didn't even notice the slip-up.

But then it happened again, only this time it was Clint who messed up. During a moment of intense frustration with his lovely partner, he chanced to exclaim "Sweetheart, you _cannot_ fuck with me like that!" To be fair, she immediately screwed the situation even further by smirking at him and replying "Then how _can_ I fuck with you, baby?" She was saved from his (no doubt incredibly personal) reply by a quiet cough over the comms. Both agents froze in place, with Clint clenching his eyes shut and turning an impossible shade of red, and Bobbi uttering a soft "ah…whoops". The incident was never mentioned by anyone at SHIELD (Clint suspected they had probably been threatened by Coulson, who was ever respectful of the couple) but that particular mission was followed by a swift renewal of the original agreements. Among other, more personal things.

The trend continued, with innocent remarks and snippets of not-quite-professional conversation scattered really not all that frequently throughout their work. However, things finally came to a head on one long, drawn-out, dull, boring, why-are-we-here-again surveillance mission. While stealth was called for, the couple's current location (Clint perched ridiculously high in a precarious spot on one building and Bobbi perched equally high but somewhat less precariously across the street) allowed for light chatter across the comms. And while Director Fury frowned upon such frivolity as chatter, well now, Fury wasn't here, was he? And thus, chatter ensued.

"I'm not saying we have to go, god knows I don't want to!"

"Then why are you even suggesting it?"

"Because I was informed by a reliable source that we can either start being 'nice' to the new recruits or we can get sent back to Basic."

"Reliable source? Since when is chit-chatting with Coulson on his break considered 'a reliable source'?"

"Who says it's Coulson?"

"Your sources are always Coulson."

"Nuh uh! What about that one in Mexico City?"

"Oh yes, the drug lord. Much better. You never did explain how you know him."

"…Did you see Hill's new hair cut?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I like it short on her. It looks cute."

"You're changing the subject. And yeah, it's alright."

"So you admit you were checking her out!"

"What? How did we go from her haircut to 'checking her out'?"

"You looked at her hair."

"Okay but…"

"And you had an opinion on it."

"Babe, you know I would never…"

"I know sweetie. I was just messing with you."

"May I ask why…honey?"

"Well…care bear…I am just _so_ bored up here."

"Somehow I get the feeling that you're not taking this seriously, boo boo bear."

"Oh my dear sweet baboo, I am absolutely taking this seriously."

"Oh really, puddin'?"

At this point, one of the other SHIELD agents on the assignment (perched comfortably at ground level in a nice van with no degree of precariousness whatsoever) had taken notice of the verbal sparring between the senior field agents. He listened in with no shame and a growing sense of amusement.

"Snookie-wookie, may I remind you that this a dangerous man we are watching?"

"I know he is, puppy-poo. He's also a boring one."

"Boring or not, he deserves all of our attention, snookums."

"Oh cuddle muffin, what are you saying here?"

"Don't take it personally, pookie, but I'm saying we need to cut the distractions."

"Gasp! Hubby-wubby! Are you saying that I'm _distracting_?"

The various SHIELD agents now gathered around the comms monitor in the van (their outgoing signal muffled) all nodded and murmured assent.

"Well, doodle bug, I guess I am."

"Oh lambykins, I feel flattered that you should consider _moi_ to be such a distraction."

"Honey bunny, you're a helluva distraction. In more ways than one."

"Why mookie-pookie bear, are you propositioning me?"

"You bet your ass I am, mamacita"

"Well then, mcsteamy, if you can wait until later, I think you'll find me more than sufficiently distracting."

"Ohhh, punkin', I can't wait to find out."

"_I'm finding out more than I ever wanted to, right now_"

The eavesdropping agents in the van (all 5 of them) jumped as if they'd been shot as Director Fury's voice cut in across the comms system. Hawkeye visibly flinched and swore softly. Mockingbird simply grinned and replied "Hate to break it to you, colonel cutie-patootie, but I'm a happily married woman."

The incident was never directly mentioned by anyone at SHIELD (again, Clint suspected Coulson) but after that particular mission a memo entitled "re:proper usage and deployment of radio chatter and call-signs" was passed around to all field agents. Clint and Bobbi made sure they reviewed it carefully, among other, more personal things…

******Author's Note: As you may have noticed, I am trying to break up the sadder updates with some light comedy. Personally, I cannot deal with too much sad all at once or my brain explodes. SO here ya go. Another slightly longer update. And for those who have asked, I am not really following any specific timeline nor do I have any plot direction or end-point in sight. Basically, I have NO idea where this story/series of one-shots is going. It seems to be driving itself...which may or may not be a good thing...I always get a wee bit nervous when stories come to life...******


	7. Chapter 7

_In which we learn about being empty_

She didn't remember much about the incident. That is, she didn't remember much of anything of importance. She remembered little things. They had had some time off and were enjoying it as much as possible; that morning they were gathered in one of the observation rooms, the one with the _really_ comfy couches and the biggest window to the outside world. The ship was in aquatic transport mode and was rocking gently atop the Pacific Ocean, the sun shining just a tad too brightly on the waves. Clint was wandering around the room describing (with graphic hand gestures) just how ungainly his wife was going to be in a few months time. He was also attempting to avoid the projectiles hurled his way by Agent Hill (on his wife's behalf). She had already exhausted the room's supply of couch pillows and had moved on to the slightly stale peanuts she'd found in one of the cabinets. Bobbi was settled in one of the plusher couches. Quite literally "in"; once one found oneself on one of these particular couches, one did not easily rise again. She was trying to ignore the battle scene occurring around her and focus on Agent Coulson, who was trying to teach her how to knit. She didn't know _why_ he knew how to knit, but, given that it was Phil, she wasn't exactly surprised. He had been trying to teach her for a week or so now, and she had already turned out one baby blanket. True, it was more holes than blanket and it contained some rather suspicious looking lumps, but it was her first effort ever and, by God, she was proud of it. Besides, knitting was a…motherly…sort of task, she was sure, not to mention to weaponries potential of the needles involved. All in all, a useful hobby.

She had just finished a row and was levering herself out of the couch in order to seek out the facilities adjacent to the observatory (the constant need for bladder relief was not a particularly pleasant facet of pregnancy and she had resolved, once again, to force SHIELD's sci-team to look into a solution) when it happened. And this was the part where things got a little fuzzy. One moment she was shifting to her feet and the next she was collapsed against the opposite wall, ears ringing and heart pounding. She didn't remember feeling any pain nor did she remember a lack of pain. She remembered being pleasantly numb, with a slight sensation of heat in parts of her body. Then she remembered…nothing.

When she woke up, she was in a hospital bed. And Clint was staring at her. And she felt empty. Despite her drugged up grogginess, the emptiness alarmed her and she tried to run through a mental checklist as she always did when finding herself in a hospital. _Head? Check. Hands, arms? Check. Feet, legs? Check. Torso? Check._ Bobbi silently congratulated herself on retaining all her major body parts. And then noticed that Clint was still staring. And she still felt empty. She ran through the checklist again, slightly more frantic now. _I have everything, don't I? I'm not missing anything. I'm okay, Clint's okay, the baby…_ and then it hit her. The term "like a ton of bricks" is often thrown around in such situations but it hardly applied here. It wasn't a ton of bricks that hit her, it was a freeze ray. She could _feel_ every atom of her body stop dead still as the realization dawned on her. She felt empty. The tiny life she had nurtured inside of her for these few months was gone and she was _empty_.

It was at this point that Bobbi Morse's brain, acting on the better part of valor, decided to shut down for a while and engage the autopilot. The next several months passed in a blur. Maria and Phil had not been badly hurt by the explosion, suffering some burns and a few broken bones. Clint had escaped nearly injury free, with only 2 broken ribs and a plethora of bruises. And she was empty. They were all eventually cleared for active duty, even Bobbi. She and Clint still partnered on missions, but she never seemed to really be there. That didn't mean she didn't get the job done. She executed her duties with flawless efficiency and a painful grace. Problem was, if there was no one else on the mission with her, Bobbi's targets tended to not walk away alive. Fury was less than happy with this turn of events, Clint was increasingly worried, and she was empty. He started requesting solo missions and she didn't stop him. Let him do what he liked, if it made him feel better then fine. After being called to the floor by Fury, yet again, and having him "request" that she stick to the mission parameters (oh and to kindly stop executing the people she was supposed to be watching and could she possibly see it in her heart to stop beating up his other agents in sparring practice) she wandered back to the quarters she supposedly shared with her husband. Clint was out solo again and she found she didn't care. About him, about Fury, about anything. A good agent, a good wife, a good person would care, she supposed. But then, she wasn't a good person, was she? She was just…empty. Empty of life, of feeling, of caring, of anything at all. And that was fine by her.

******Author's Note: trying to be consistent with my storyline (such as it is) here. Which means actually thinking while I'm writing. Which is no bueno, let me tell you. Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Emotional outbursts? I welcome them all...******


	8. Chapter 8

_In which we learn the fate of the plaid shirt that he was somewhat fond of_

Clint Barton was a very simple man when it came to clothes. He wore what was comfortable and he wore it until it fell apart from being patched up too many times. Or became so encrusted with blood and filth that it no longer even resembled clothing. Either way, he wore what was comfortable and that was that. T-shirts and jeans, cargos with their ever useful pockets, sweatshirts with logos so faded you couldn't even begin to guess what they once said. Being up to date with the latest fashions simply did not matter to him. Hence, the plaid shirt.

Now, plaid shirts are a wardrobe requirement for most men. Even if it is never worn, every man's closet must contain at least one plaid shirt. And to be fair, they mostly are not that bad; usually they consist of some blend of colors that at least tries to be complementary. But not this shirt. No, this shirt took one look at the complementary color wheel and did an abrupt about-face. No soothing blue-green mixes or manly black-red squares for this shirt, oh no. Imagine, if you will, an orange so striking it burns itself into your retinas at first glance. Now add to that a banana yellow which, on its own, _might_ be considered remotely alright. Throw in a dash of violet not found in nature and finally a swirl of purplish-maroon. To take these colors and create a plaid-patterned shirt was such an abominable act against nature that…that…well, it was bad. And yet, Clint was immune to the horror of The Shirt. He did not notice the skull-crushing colors or the nausea inducing mix thereof. All he noticed was that The Shirt was comfortable and it fit him perfectly. End of story.

Bobbi Morse was a somewhat complex woman when it came to clothes. While she was aware of current styles, she did not follow them religiously. Instead, she adopted a more eccentric style, happily donning tie-dye one day and Versace the next. Equally comfortable in flip-flops and Jimmy Choos, she loved clothes and collected them with fervor. And yet, despite having an incredibly extensive wardrobe (the size of which had been remarked upon by surprise by the men and envy by the women who knew of it), she frequently delved into Clint's closet in order to clothe herself. Clint of course had no issue with such an invasion of his privacy. As he had occasionally to discover first-hand, there is nothing sexier in the world than finding your wife lounging in bed wearing one of your shirts…and nothing else. So he was more than happy to let Bobbi rummage through his belongings now and then.

But every so often, an old shirt or particularly ratty pair of shorts would go missing, and he would have to assert his manly dominance. At such times, he would express his profound joy that she chose to grace him with her womanly charms via his clothing, but could she please stop throwing away his favorite clothes as it took a long time to break in that shirt and he would like it back now please and thank you. And at such times, she would usually (grumpily) acquiesce and return the pilfered article to his possession.

Now, the shirt in question had long been a matter of contention between the two lovebirds. Upon her first viewing of said Shirt (at the time hanging meekly in the closet) Bobbi had frozen and stared for a solid 3 minutes. After re-booting her retinas, she had seized and disposed of the offending article, only to have Clint request it's return not 2 hours later. The Shirt came back. Upon her second viewing of The Shirt (at the time stretched across her husband's chest) Bobbi had jumped upon Clint and ripped The Shirt from him. Clint naturally misinterpreted this act and responded in a somewhat more personal manner and The Shirt was forgotten for the time being. The Shirt stayed.

Her third, fourth, fifth, and sixth attempts to dispose of The Shirt ended in failure as well. The seventh failure led Bobbi to suspect that more supernatural powers were at work and consequently ended in her accidentally lighting their shared quarters on fire, but that is an entirely different incident report. Regardless, The Shirt remained. At this point Bobbi became resigned to an uneasy co-existence with The Shirt and tried to ignore the thing altogether.

Time passed and still the image of The Shirt haunted her. It was burned into her brain (not a difficult feat with those colors) and it troubled her dreams. Finally she decided the time had come for a showdown, a true Western shootout, a la "This carrier ain't big enough for the both of us, Shirt!". She patiently waited, biding her time until the moment was ripe. Plotting and watching, she utilized every atom of her SHIELD training to construct the perfect defeat for The Shirt.

At long last, it came: Clint was away on a multi-day mission and the closet was hers. Placing a small cardboard box squarely in the center of the room, she slowly approached the closet. She drew in a deep breath, flung open the doors and, averting her eyes and using a pair of kitchen tongs, grasped The Shirt and gently placed it in the box. She kicked the box closed and picked it up, carefully holding it at arm's length from her body. Dashing down the corridor to her old quarters, she breathed a silent prayer of thanks that they had not yet been reassigned to another agent and that she was still able to store personal (and pilfered) items in there…such as The Shirt. Only when the box was buried deep in her old closet, beneath piles of shoes and handbags, old t-shirts and jeans, did she finally breathe easy.

It was done! The Shirt had been vanquished! And she could honestly tell Clint that she had neither touched nor tossed, neither trashed nor seen The Shirt. The Battle of the Closet was over at last and she reigned victorious over the fabric realm. Now, if only she could do something about those damn cartoon boxer shorts he wore…

******Author's Note: Whew! It's been a while, eh? It is summer camp season here, and I have very few hours to call my own, thus the delay. My apologies! Anyway, this is a more light-spirited chapter. As always, I hope you enjoy and con. crit. is welcomed. But not with cookies. It is too damned hot for cookies. Seriously Carolina? 104 degrees F? SERIOUSLY? ...I'm gonna go melt now. ******


	9. Chapter 9

_In which we learn exactly how much concentration is takes to shoot that well_

"Barton" she practically purrs in his ear.

He stares straight at his intended target, seemingly ignoring her, but his breathing grows deeper and louder as she slides her arms around his waist.

"Oh Bartonnnn" she murmurs huskily. Her eyes are fixed on his face and she can see the tell-tale wrinkles around his eyes. They always showed up when he was really concentrating on something: a target, a flight path, a really intense game of football. A wife clinging to him like super glue.

She slides her leg deftly between his and slowly draws it up, her toes lightly stroking his left leg as they go, until her knee is rubbing against his groin.

"Jesus, woman…" he moans, eyes still fixed on his target.

She chuckles, low and breathy, and it only turns him on even more. Most women giggle, but _his_ chuckles. He's not looking at her (deliberately **not** looking) but he can still visualize (hell he can practically feel it) the smirk curving on her lips.

She leans in (god can she even _get_ any closer?) and whispers in his ear, "Barton? I'm bored."

*******Greetings and Salutations all! I apologize for the lengthy delay in posting and for the brevity of this post. A lot of bad stuff has gone down in my life recently and quite frankly I haven't felt inspired at all. However, while time may not heal all wounds it can at least put a metaphorical Band-Aid over them. I do hope to resume posting here on a more regular basis. But...we shall see. Thank you for your patience!*******


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